


heaven (beautiful oblivion)

by honeyastral (hiraethseok)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Kink, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Comeplay, Demon Blood Addict Sam Winchester, Demon Dean Winchester, Dom Dean Winchester, Frottage, Grinding, Incest Kink, King of Hell Sam Winchester and Consort Dean Winchester, Knight of Hell Dean Winchester, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sibling Incest, Sub Sam Winchester, it’s not horrible i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22982488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiraethseok/pseuds/honeyastral
Summary: “shh, sammy,” dean says, slithers his fingertips down his body to clench around his waist. “you’re working yourself too hard.”and sam knows what that means, what he’s offering, and it’s an invitation when sam tips his head back onto dean’s shoulder.or,sam’s a little stressed with his position as boyking of hell, but dean’s there to help him relax.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 158





	heaven (beautiful oblivion)

**Author's Note:**

> if i owned spn this show would be going a little (a lot) differently
> 
> enjoy! comments/kudos are always, always appreciated :)

-

sam’s head throbs with hellfire as he smooths his silk robe down. the weight of damnation shoves and beats against him, a physical weight that sam shoulders, and he stops for a moment, dizzy, to growl at a few brave demons spewing poison amongst themselves about the purity of the throne. 

_shut your fucking mouths or you’ll wish you never spoke._

it feels good to make an example, feels right even as the demons tremble and mutter consensus. 

cold hands slide into the opening of his robe and sam’s slammed back into his body, the closest to human he’s been in centuries, and he shivers, pleased. 

“dean,” he murmurs, because his brother’s soul vibrates in time with his own, and dean’s been startling him since the aching dawn of their creation in that little house in lawrence. 

“shh, sammy,” dean says, slithers his fingertips down his body to clench around his waist. “you’re working yourself too hard.”

and sam knows what that means, what he’s offering, and it’s an invitation when sam tips his head back onto dean’s shoulder. dean growls, burns hot for a heartbeat, and then he bites at sam’s pulse point, takes his offering like he’s answering a prayer. 

the hellfire searing his brain takes a backseat, and sam knows that all of hell can hear the way he whimpers his brother’s name, the way he pleads for him to give him what he wants, what he needs. 

dean relents, dips his head in crude mimicry of a bow, low enough to lap up the salty sweat beading on sam’s shoulder, and it’s toeing the line between worship and blasphemy by the time sam digs his nails into dean’s bicep and whines low in his throat. 

“tell me what you want.” dean’s lips crawl into a grin, and sam feels every flame-scorched corner of his mind shake and hold its breath, waiting for his reply almost as urgently as dean himself. 

sam shudders and finally lets go; hell shifts and groans under the weight of it, and then everything goes bone-dry quiet when sam opens his mouth. 

“touch me.”

dean snarls and spins sam around, slamming him back against the wall and rolling his hips forward in a slow, bloody grind. the arousal pools low in sam’s gut like an oasis, and he’s so quickly addicted to the metallic tang of his brother’s flesh and the ash-sweet flood of curses that fall from his lips, all whispers of maledictions against every pure and gentle thing. 

this is anything but, and sam spreads his legs and falls into the punishing pace dean sets, quick and dirty and dripping in sin. from here, sam can see the pinpricks of freckles wash over his cheeks, and a moan bubbles out of sam’s mouth at the vivid image of warm blood splattering over his brother’s face, of not knowing whether those dots are places he’s been kissed by the sun or evidence of his hellish blood-thirst. 

dean smirks like he knows what he’s thinking, and he leans close enough that sam can smell him, head rapidly stuffed full with the scent of burning flesh and the cries of the guilty, and sam’s eyes roll back before dean can even touch him. 

his tongue is a hot rod laving against his lips, itching and begging for sam to bare himself open for him, and sam listens, parts his lips and lets dean in, in, in. 

cold fingers tug his robe wide open, letting it slip to the ground in a shadowed puddle, and then those same fingers touch and caress and bruise every weak place on sam’s body, proof of a lifetime of familiarity, an eon of fucking and loving and killing that their souls dance around. 

sam whimpers and dean eats it up like bloodied honey. 

his palm brushes his cock, coaxes another warm rush of slick out through the slit, and then dean tugs his belt loose and shoves his jeans down his thighs, crowding up close to sam again and blanketing his body with his own. their voices blend in a frantic harmony as dean grinds his cock against sam’s, letting his slick coat him in a fine layer of sacrilege. 

“you’re gonna come,” dean says, panting, shoving at him hard. “you’re gonna come for me and i’m gonna lick it all off and feed it back to you.”

sam _burns_ , aches in a thousand different ways, finally feels himself let go of the choking leash around hell to hand it over to his brother, surrenders his body to submit and receive and take what dean offers him. 

dean’s grin is wolfish, and he bites his own lip until it bleeds, pressing the thick crimson into sam’s slack mouth, watching his baby brother’s eyes light up black and fix hungrily to the red bloom streaked across his pink lips. 

“yeah, that’s it, sammy,” he murmurs, “want more?”

sam doesn’t answer him, just fists his shirt and grips him tight, bites hard at his neck and _pulls_ , sucks down the flood of warm blood as dean stutters out a moan and tips his head back, eyes glittering black. 

“good boy,” he laughs, strained, “ _good_ boy.”

sam’s so close he can feel it spike under his skin, the stinging need to come, to let go, to coat dean with his release and mark him _his_. his blood pools in every inch of his mouth, and sam’s drowning in dean, dean, _dean_ , thrusting his hips against dean’s and trying desperately to suck him dry. 

“gonna come?” dean goads, twists his fist in a dirty-quick pull, roughened palms skirting along sensitive flesh. “c’mon, sammy, come for your big brother.”

sam’s mind whites out and he presses an open-mouthed shout into the bite on dean’s neck, lips bloodied and bruised and glistening with spit, eyes screwed shut tight, and dean just breathes deep and jacks him off hard, milks his soul out through his cock. all of hell holds its breath, trembles with tension, cries out at the unrelenting waves of toe-curling pleasure-pain, and sam doesn’t ask dean to stop because dean knows when he needs him to. 

dean’s unusually gentle with him afterwards, coaxing him off the wall and into his arms, and sam just lays there as dean gets himself off, paints over sam’s come with his own, and then he falls to his knees and makes good on his promise, licking up the white streaks on sam’s stomach and rising to his feet to push it all into sam’s mouth, letting him taste and suck and swallow them both down. 

he doesn’t hand the reigns back until sam’s breathing slows from it’s rabbit-fast pace, and he doesn’t leave immediately after. dean isn’t cold anymore, pulsing now with bone-deep heat, and sam is suddenly reminded of the pain-in-the-ass, smooth talking big brother from kansas, so similar yet so different to the gruff, blood-hungry knight of hell before him. 

dean grins and his teeth are stained red, and sam forgets about that dean as quickly as he gets addicted to this one. 

sam rolls his neck and cracks his whip, shivers as the demons do and settles back into his role as king, dean’s saliva burning pleasantly against his belly. 

_kneel before me, slaves of hell, and serve me, your boyking, once more._

and hell has no choice but to obey.

-


End file.
